


Compressed Air

by gigantic



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-09
Updated: 2009-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:27:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sometimes Ryan just needs someone to believe that he knows what he's doing.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compressed Air

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNINGS** : Drug use (including cocaine). Drunk-driving.

Ryan has a moment of blackness and then he realizes he's hit a bus bench and pole. The officers that help him out make sure he doesn't need medical assistance. There's an ambulance there and everything, but Ryan's fine, really, he's shaken, but he's okay, and then they turn on him and ask him to take a field test.

It's one of the more embarrassing and frustrating moments of his life. He thinks his cellphone is still in the front seat of the car.

"Can you hear me? Sir," an officer says. Ryan can't remember his name or focus on his uniform long enough to see if there's a tag there.

"No," Ryan says. "I mean, yes, but I'd rather not."

When they ask him for his hands, he holds them out and really hopes he can get this over with quickly.

\--

It isn't quick. They get him to the station and do the preliminary screening. Ryan's sort of glad he's left his weed at home, for once, while they're taking his mug shot. He gets a chance to make a phone call, and all of his family is in Vegas. It doesn't matter. He would only call his grandparents, honestly, because there's no way he's calling his mom. None. He thinks about Pete and dials Alex's number.

Alex sounds pretty worried on the phone. Ryan explains what's happened the best he can, and Alex can't seem to listen quietly, saying, "Fuck. Shit, _fuck_ ," in this high voice Ryan doesn't usually hear him use. "Are you okay? Ross, man, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Ryan says. "Come get me, please. Come get me. This place is making me nauseous."

He wears normal pants and a plain shirt to get Ryan, which Ryan doesn't think to hope or be thankful for until he gets there. The cops have been giving him weird looks the whole time, saying things like, "You don't know how lucky..." and asking him what he was thinking, and the fluorescent lights give Ryan a headache. He's been there for hours and hours by the time Alex arrives and the bail's been posted. Alex has his hair in a messy ponytail and crosses his arms while Ryan gets his shit and shuffles out.

In the light of the day, Ryan really starts to feel his hangover. Alex puts an arm around his shoulder, and Ryan says, "Do you have water in your car?"

"No," he says. "We can stop at a 7-11 though."

Never has that convenience store sounded so much like heaven as it does right now. Ryan wants water and a bed, and he's grateful when he gets both of those things, Alex carting his sickly ass home and not making too much fun.

\--

They hide out in Ryan's home for two days, drinking tea, because Alex says it's probably a good idea to be on better behavior now.

"Ugh," Ryan says. All he wants is a drink to forget about his awful night at the police station. He's talked to his lawyer already, and the conversation only makes Ryan wish he hadn't gotten a California license so quickly, because then they couldn't have confiscated it right away.

Alex says, "Aren't you glad you didn't go in on a Friday?"

Ryan says, "I'm a hardened criminal."

"Prison makes you horny?" Alex asks, and Ryan laughs.

They smoke weed instead of doing lines, and Alex hugs Ryan's head and tells him he's stupid, but he loves him anyway, because he's a mean theremin player and he gives good head.

Ryan says, "I don't own a theremin."

Alex says, "The theremin of your heart," and they laugh. God. Alex makes everything feel better.

\--

Other people aren't as amused. Driving under the influence -- Ryan appreciates the sophistication of the phrase -- can be disappointing, he knows, but he hadn't even felt that bad when he left Lily's house and he was just going like a couple miles down to a party at Michael's. It had been a fluke accident, really. He feels somewhat chagrined, but Ryan's also sure he's done more horrifying things.

He talks to Spencer about it briefly, who says, in summation, "That was dumb."

"Yeah," Ryan says. He's paying for it now, but Alex also keeps reminding Ryan that it could've been a lot worse, which is true too.

"How've you been? How are you?" Spencer asks. Ryan shrugs at his feet and thinks back through the week. He's had rougher days.

"Alright," he says and touches a hand to his stomach. "Kind of hungry."

"Bet you don't have anything but Corn Pops in your kitchen," Spencer says.

"Bet you it's Cheerios." Ryan had a bowl before he went to sleep last night. He's not that bad off. Jon's always suggesting they go shopping and shit. Ryan's addiction to eating out doesn't actually reflect the state of his cabinets.

It's nice to hear Spencer's voice, but Ryan starts to get a little antsy after several minutes. When Spencer can't find anything nice to say, he doesn't say anything at all, and Ryan's kind of got enough going on right now. He says, "So, I'm gonna go," and Spencer makes an assenting noise.

"Don't get arrested anymore," Spencer says. He doesn't laugh or anything, but Ryan's fairly positive it's meant to be lighthearted.

He says, "Yeah, yeah. Later."

\--

Handcuffs are kind of irritating. Ryan thinks about it when he's telling Alex that he talked to Spencer. He says, "Consider it. I wouldn't get arrested again just for that."

"Mmm," Alex says wisely. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

Ryan frowns a little. "And some people use those things for sex."

Alex sits up and clamps his hands over Ryan's ankles. He says, "Would you rather I use silk scarves?"

"I'm delicate," Ryan says.

"Lies. I fucked you on your knees."

"I had rugburn for days."

"Oh, that's right," Alex says, and he kisses Ryan's knees, even though they're pale now. He turns around and grabs a bandana from the floor, then scrambles up to touch Ryan's wrists and tie it to his. It takes forever. Alex has to use his teeth.

Ryan shakes their arms when he can, and he says, "Do you have anymore pot?"

"Yeah," Alex says. "Let's fuck like this."

"Smoke me out first," Ryan says and Alex nods, singing an impromptu ditty about smoke rings and stacks and signals. Ryan smiles.

\--

Ryan doesn't know what everyone's so worried about. He eats, he gets enough sleep (usually), and he works on new music. He's got this all under control; so what if he likes to unwind after he's done?

Jon understands. He's upset about the DUI, because it means Ryan gets his license suspended and he asks Jon to cart him around.

"I can't fucking believe you hit a pole," Jon says.

Ryan says, "I know. At least it wasn't a person."

"That's not even the point," Jon says. He flips through the radio stations for a while and then just turns it off after finding nothing but commercials. "I should get an iPod thing."

"You won't need to drive me around forever," Ryan says.

Jon says, "Got that right. You should stay home more."

"Are you putting me on punishment?" Ryan asks, slipping sunglasses onto his face and reclining his seat. "You can't do that."

"Fuck," Jon says, and when Ryan looks over at him, Jon's not even paying attention. He's looking at his hand. "I think I just shocked myself."

"That's good luck."

Jon glances over, snorting. He says, "Where'd you hear that?"

He sounds skeptical, but Ryan even knows the origin story for that superstition. Alex told it to him, and then rubbed his hands along the carpet back and forth to touch Ryan's stomach and declare he was passing along the Midas touch.

"Now everything you touch will turn to gold," Alex had said and pretended to examine Ryan's skin. "Yep. Yep, I can tell it worked."

Ryan still likes the idea. He pretends he can see something special happening when he plays guitar in the studio.

Jon's still looking at Ryan like he's waiting for an answer, so Ryan shrugs. He says, "It is," insisting. "Trust me."

Jon doesn't look like he's convinced. That's okay, Ryan thinks. Not everybody gets it.

\--

He hears that Keltie might be in Los Angeles, and he doesn't try to call her. He can't imagine she'd be polite at all, if she's heard. The last time Ryan talked to her at all was after she sent him a message to wish him happy birthday, and he'd replied with a thank you. He wants to preserve that. Brendon had called to pass along his well wishes, which was kind of nice, but Ryan had still found himself sort of wishing he'd let it go to voicemail instead of answering.

It's a trait that Ryan figures Brendon picked up from his parents -- the ability to make everything sound like a guilt trip spoken through a smile. Ryan spent a lot of time infatuated with Brendon's voice and his hands and how fucking earnest he was about getting off second, but it always felt like the good came with baggage, and Ryan had enough of his own to carry.

So he never really calls Brendon and he doesn't call Keltie. Alex can't come back out to Los Angeles for another two weeks, so Ryan writes him a song about pigs rolling in their own shit and falling in love with each other's stench. He sings it into Alex's voicemail.

Three hours later, Alex calls him back and says, "You're fucking disgusting. Let's buy a chicken coop together."

"And start a business?"

"I found me some golden geese today. I done got inspired," Alex says and tells him about how he wrote the business plan on napkins. "Come to New York. We need to strategize."

Ryan doesn't really have the time, but he appreciates the request. He says, "You come out here. I have to stay for a while, but you should come back."

\--

He gets community service. He gets the five days of community service, and he has to go to first offender school, and he has to pay a fine, and they don't give him his license back. They tell him it's going to be a while before he gets it back, and Ryan imagines that Jon isn't going to be very happy about that.

Ryan has a criminal record now. He has a mugshot, and it looks awful. He looks haggard and sloppy, and it's the most disheartening picture of his life. They could have told him he had a cowlick.

He takes Jon's advice belatedly and stays inside. Ryan writes three songs, and then he does some lines, because he thinks better when he's more alert, and he wants to figure out ways to get around now that he can't drive himself. After twenty minutes he has a handful of good ideas: public transportation, cabs, a bike, roller skates, hiring a driver, buying a horse, buying a hovercraft, learning to fly using the strength of his own two arms with maybe some sheets attached. He types out the list on his iPhone and then emails it to Alex.

Alex writes back, _don't forget teleportation!!! i'll show you how next week. call you tonight?_

Ryan's gone back to trying to work on the bridge of a song, picking out a melody and humming to figure out what fits best. He's determined to finish early now and have enough, so that he can lounge and talk to Alex without having unfinished work nagging at his brain.

When the sun sets, Ryan sets down his guitar and smokes a bowl so he can eat something. On the phone, Alex says that he's booked his flight for coming back Los Angeles, and Ryan thinks that this is the first time that things have started to look up.

\--

Before the Honda Civic Tour, Ryan had heard some Phantom Planet -- _everybody_ knows "California" -- but he'd never listened closely. Sometimes it's hard to really understand or appreciate a person unless they're right there in front of you, and during his first conversation with Alex, Ryan made a really random and unnecessary Faulkner reference and Alex had actually laughed.

Later that same day, Alex came back from a Burger King trip with his bandmates and put a paper bag on Ryan's head, one that matched his own, and he'd said, "Join me in my campaign to make sure that all Burger Kings are always stocked with paper crowns."

"Is this a protest?" Ryan had asked, adjusting his paper bag hat.

"It's a call to arms!" Alex had declared.

Ryan has always been taken with people who live loudly. Big mouths and brights smiles. He likes people who stand out in a crowd, because Ryan's always felt that hugeness in himself, but he's never really shouted anything from rooftops just because he could do it. Not alone.

Alex has. Alex does. Some nights he does things like use empty beer bottles and cans to make up instruments he names after Sesame Street and Muppets characters and then tells Ryan the only way this shit is gonna work, the _only_ way to sing along with someone playing with an Animal Beaker is to scream. He says this over and over, until Ryan gets riled up and shouts, and then it gets easier after that. Ryan keeps on going until Alex calls the finale and then kisses Ryan's head.

"There's nothing like you," Alex says. "You're gorgeous. You're the cherry on top."

"What makes up the rest of the sundae?" Ryan asks, laughing.

Alex tapes Ryan's shoulder and kisses his face again. He says, "That's irrelevance. Be my year-round Valentine."

"Okay," Ryan says.

That sounds like something he might be interested in perpetuating. He likes himself better when he's with Alex, feels goofy and creative and competent, because Alex listens to the stuff Ryan writes and says, "Shit, you are a king among lemmings." Sometimes Ryan just needs someone to believe that he knows what he's doing.

\--

Picking up other people's trash sucks. Ryan spends a day on a beach, another day cleaning up buses, and at the end of each day full of public service, he washes his hands for a full ten minutes. On his way home, he sees a man drop an empty chip bag on the ground and has to refrain from making his cab pull over to tell him about all the hard work people do to keep this state clean.

Jon tells him he sounds kind of like he's lost it when Ryan gets back to his house and rants about how little people seem to care. He says, "How much pot did you smoke today?"

"None!" Ryan says. He really hasn't. Sometimes he thinks that Jon considers him that friend. He's that guy in Jon's life who's perpetually fucked up and that's the way he qualifies Ryan to people that don't know him, but Ryan's not that bad. He hadn't done coke in like a week when he was arrested, and it didn't even turn up in his screening.

Chuckling, Jon says, "I'm kidding, man. Let's eat something and then practice, if you're still up for it."

They get in two hours. Ryan's hands and arms start to hurt, strangely, and he gets more and more tired. They have some shows coming up, but Ryan has to call it an early night. He's exhausted. Cleaning up other people's messes takes it right out of him.

"Reconvene first thing tomorrow?" he says after he tells Jon he's going to crash.

"Isn't Alex coming in again in the morning?" Jon asks, picking up his beer from where it sits atop his bass amp.

Ryan says, "Indeed. That is truth." He shrugs and sets his guitar aside, momentarily thwarted when the strap gets caught under the collar of his shirt. "I'll get up though."

\--

In the morning, Ryan wakes because a whole person collapses onto his stomach. He grunts, growling, "No! _What_?" and thinks briefly of Brendon as he blinks several times to make sense of his bedroom. Alex is there.

"Rise and shine, wine and dine," Alex says, pushing back and lifting the blanket to crawl under with Ryan.

Ryan says, "How did you get here from the airport?" rubbing his face and yawning.

"We forgot to plan it," Alex says. "I took the flyaway and then a cab."

"Do you want me to pay you back?" Ryan asks, turning to face him. He smiles, lips closed and Alex touches his nose and then his cheek and exhales.

He says, "No," and, "I brought you a present. It's not a tarantula."

"Oh, good," Ryan says. He doesn't ask what it really is though, just slides close and settles in, closing his eyes.

Alex says, "Don't you have to practice. Jon let me in; he told me to get you on your feet."

Groaning, Ryan says, "A little later. Half an hour more. You're here."

\--

Rehearsal happens. It takes Ryan a few tries, but he makes it out of bed thanks to encouragement from Alex. (He's also the reason Ryan gets pulled back down to the mattress several times, but Ryan likes the way Alex kisses his neck, so that's immaterial.) He and Jon work through the songs and make sure they're polished.

The first show in the area's on a Friday. The place is packed. Ryan stands on stage and tugs at the collar of his shirt, too hot in the space. Alex gets him a beer and set it on the edge of the stage. He comes up for his guitar solo, and Ryan gets the audience to clap along. To his left, Jon's playing barefoot, sweating and focused, and Ryan's so pleased that he doesn't even notice Brendon and Spencer until after the set wraps.

They're hiding out by the sound board, nearly tucked away in the same nook as the engineer. Spencer watches Ryan approach, holding a drink in his hand and still maintaining his conversation with Brendon. Ryan walks up and waves, and Brendon doesn't turn around until Ryan's standing right at his side.

He smiles brightly, saying, "Hey!" in a way Ryan can't describe as anything else but an exclamation. "Great set. You look great up there."

"Thanks," Ryan says, letting Brendon move in for the hug. Ryan pats his back, and Brendon shrugs his shoulder as he steps aside.

"Where'd Jon disappear to so fast?" Brendon asks.

Ryan motions behind with with no real direction. He says, "Somewhere. Packing, probably."

"I want to say hi to him too." It takes little more than that to announce his exit, and Brendon walks away. Spencer watches him go, and Ryan glances over his shoulder as well to see Brendon push his way through the crowd.

Looking at Spencer, Ryan says, "You didn't tell me you were coming."

"I texted you a few days ago."

Ryan doesn't remember that. He's been distracted a lot lately, though, so it's more likely that he somehow didn't notice than it is that Spencer's mistaken. Ryan says, "Is it just you guys?"

"Dallon's here too," Spencer says. He take a drink from his cup. "He says he never sees Alex anymore or something. Darren gave him orders to prove life."

Spencer smirks. It's this sort of noncommittal half-grin. He scratches his hair and drinks more. Ryan looks over his shoulder again, and he can't spot Alex, but Ryan would bet money that, wherever he's gone, Alex is holding a drink of his own and laughing.

"Alex is alright," Ryan says. He sees the guy in good spirits constantly. They're both making music and having fun. They couldn't be better. "I see him all the time. Darren should ask me."

"I'll let him know for next time," Spencer says.

Ryan says, "Yeah," and tucks a hand in his jeans pocket. He wishes they were nearer to the bar so that he could get another beer of his own. Alex stole his halfway through their last song. He jerks his head in the direction where Brendon walked. "I'm surprised about that one."

The last time Ryan had any prolonged interaction with Brendon, they'd had lunch on Santa Monica during the hottest point in the day. Brendon asked how had been doing, and Ryan had just said, "Good. Fine, good, and you look good, too," and wondered if he'd left the new pipe he bought with Alex.

Brendon had said he'd been thinking about Ryan, hedging and stabbing at his food, like Ryan wouldn't pick up on what that meant. Ryan had said, "You really don't have to, you know. If thinking about me is gonna make you pout like I stole something from you." He'd told Brendon that he didn't need that kind of negativity, and Brendon had accused Ryan of trying to turn everything around all the time. It hadn't gone well. They'd had much better encounters, certainly.

Spencer says, "He likes your record too."

Ryan considers it a consolation and knows not to ask for better. He says, "Thanks for coming."

"Yeah. You should let us know where you play more," Spencer says. He reaches out to nudge Ryan's arm. "How's everything else?"

The odds that he's referring to Ryan's criminality are pretty high, so Ryan says, "Probation. No license. And I have to go to these classes."

"Like traffic school?"

"Like don't it again, because next time we'll set your bail at twenty-thousand," Ryan clarifies. That's pretty much the conclusion of every class he's gone to thus far. If you can't inspire true emotional remorse, then appealing to wallets is a surefire way. It's spoken to Ryan. He tells Alex and Jon about the classes when they pick him up afterward.

Spencer says, with no qualms, "You're learning something?"

And Ryan says, "Yeah." From now on, he's going to wait until he gets home. "You want to see the mugshot? I'm thinking about turning it into my Christmas cards. Alex is going to Photoshop his face in with mine. The penultimate display of humility."

"Ha," Spencer says. He seems less entertained than Alex had been when they came up with the idea. "It's probably also a good idea to just slow down."

"Mm," Ryan says.

He hears Spencer, but he's also unmotivated to keep pushing the conversation. His body feels more and more tired. Ryan feels like he's spinning in and out different orbits lately, unsure of how to touch bases the way he's supposed to make a connection. In his head, he imagines it as riding through fog in bumper cars and he can't see anybody's headlights except his own reflecting back at him. He thinks about telling Spencer, but he's not really sure if it would make enough sense out loud.

Alex finds them a few minutes later. He pats Ryan hard on the back and says, "Look what I found you! Your favorite." He passes off a UFO White with an orange slice.

"Where'd you find the fruit?"

"Magic," Alex says, and then, "One of the houses around the corner had an orange tree. I cut it with my pocket knife. It had to be perfect."

"That's dedication," Spencer says, and Alex chuckles, saying that he ate the other three-quarters himself.

Ryan says, "Thank you," and the edges get muddled in the commotion of the room, but Alex nods.

When they leave, they ride in the same car.

\--

Ryan doesn't think he's that hard to understand. He can be stubborn, but what it comes to do is essentially unchanging. He likes genuine artists, good music, and good conversation. He likes sex. He likes people that make him feel good about himself. Who doesn't like those things?

"The Amish? Wasn't Kate Amish?" Alex asks. "Ask her."

He's not looking at Ryan, messing around at the foot of the bed. Ryan's worked up and ready, and now they can't find a condom. Initially, the point had been to come in and unwind. Ryan's so ready he keeps curling his toes and sighing dramatically.

Alex says, "Man, fuck. This is like a graveyard of wrappers and no survivors. At the end of the world, latex doesn't keep the cockroaches company."

Ryan says, "What?" because he's still hard, and Alex is picking at shit on the floor again.

Alex says, "Condoms!"

He's flipping his hand around like that'll make it clearer, and Ryan says, "You don't have any?"

"I could maybe find you a glove. We can cut one of the fingers." Alex make a snipping motion with his fingers.

Ryan says, "God. _God_ ," imagining sizing his dick that way. He's the middle finger. Even if he isn't, he's cutting that one anyway.

He laughs to himself and Alex looks back, saying, "You're laughing at my ass?"

"Nope," Ryan says. "Yes. I mean, never. Come back up here."

"I'm excavating!" Alex yells.

"I'm hard!" Ryan throws back, equally as loud, and Alex snaps his head around, saying, "You win."

His elbow digs into Ryan's ribs when he settles nearer. Ryan makes an "oof" sound but touches Alex's side anyway. Alex kisses him, biting Ryan's lip and stretching it because he can. Letting go, he pecks Ryan one more time on the mouth and wraps a hand around his cock, stroking.

"Pause," Ryan says. "Intermission." Alex pulls back, looking at him him. His fingers flex against Ryan's torso. Flattening them, Alex pushes his free palm across Ryan's stomach, hovering over him in the most awkward, inconvenient position as Ryan asks, "Are you okay?"

Closing one eye, Alex says, "Ay ay, Captain. Why? You're coming down already?"

Ryan isn't. He's still floating. He doesn't even need a bump, but he thought he'd check. He says, "I'm peachy keen."

"I like my keens the best when they're peachy," Alex says. Ryan raises his head to nudge his nose against Alex's adam's apple, and he makes an ugly snorting laugh sound that Ryan loves. "Are _you_ okay?" 

Ryan's one hundred percent and counting. He's on probation, and he can't drive anywhere, but he'd rather smile than complain. Ryan nods but doesn't speak, instead re-dedicating himself to appreciating that Alex is naked and little sweaty. His hair smells like smoke. Ryan tangles his fingers in it, inhales, and puts everything else out of his mind. He's amazing. He's perfect.


End file.
